[After two and a half weeks of not shaving, Bucky's eternal beard has become more intolerable than usual with the disguise catching on the hair whenever he dons or doffs the layers of material. He didn't exactly clean himself up before the mission either. Another day of racing for the rest of the Nest, but for Bucky he gets to work comparing tracks and sketching. An hour or so later, though, he's done with the constant catching of hair in thread.
He retires to his tent, giving Sam a quiet blip of his location, and pulls his knife from his bag. Off goes the disguise, along with a handful of hairs. Time to get down to business. He lays out one of the inner layers of the disguise across his knees before turning the sharpest edge of the blade to his face.]
[ Sam is gonna be real damn grateful for that, all right. As much as Bucky can rock the scruffy look - and he can, Sam's not gonna pretend like scruff isn't kind of a good look on Bucky - him wanting to do self care type shit is a good sign, even if it's just because the beard was starting to be annoying.
Bucky might not have meant it as an invitation to come join him, but Sam needs a break from being out in the other envoys, anyway, so he heads back to their tent. He starts stripping off the disguise as soon as he's deep enough inside, and then stops about halfway through as he spots his broodmate sitting there holding a big old knife to his face. ]
[Bucky doesn't need to glance up when the tent flaps rustle. The symbiote tells him it's Sam. At the sound of his real name, Bucky looks up and the blade kisses his throat. For a moment, he blinks in confusion before it hits him. Oh. He remembers some of the darker conversations in the Gardens after Aoba's death, what this must look like after continued feelings of uselessness.]
Shaving. [He replies quickly, lowering the knife to his knee.]
Edited (changed his reaction) 2017-09-28 12:20 (UTC)
[ There's a quiet, instinctive reaction to seeing the blade at Bucky's throat - not exactly fear, but definitely something unsettled, a little bit protective. With the strength of their connection, Sam's pretty sure he'd know if thoughts like that had gotten so bad that Bucky was tempted to act on them.
Still, it's reassuring to hear. Sam doesn't comment on what it might have been - it isn't, and he doesn't want to go down dark paths or treat Bucky like he's fragile when that's the exact opposite of how Sam sees him - and he huffs out a soft laugh, raising an eyebrow. ]
All right, I got a few less questions. [ He sets aside the layers of his disguise, moving over into Bucky's space. ] That's gonna give you a shitty ass shave, sunshine, you always use a knife for that?
[Bucky does his best to send a mote of reasurance chaing after that unsettled feeling. He's alright. Feeling more useless than helpful, but for now it's at tolerable levels, nothing like when he first emerged from HYDRA. Here, he has Sam and a number of acquaintances he's growing to trust and enjoy when before he had nothing but a name.
He doesn't mind Sam moving into his space, but turns the blade away from Sam where it sits on his knee.]
Done it since I got out. [Because when someone's head is scrambled and in pieces, he goes with what he knows. Hell, he's cut his own hair with the knife. In uneven layers, sure, but he's not entering any beautiy paegants anytime soon.]
Kept getting caught in all that. [He gestures with his head toward the pile of fabric that is his disguise. The beard is much longer than usual, a full hobo beard instead of the eternal scruff he's able to shave.]
[ That - actually that's a hell of a lot of progress, that's great. And that's not at all sarcasm. Sometimes the best you can hope for is better, and right now, things are better than they were before.
It's one of those times that he notices how amazing Bucky is, but he doesn't comment on it. Or that Bucky's been using a knife for years, apparently - no wonder he's been rocking the hobo chic look.
Granted, if anyone could pull it off, it's Bucky - and all right, all right, he has pulled it off, it's not like Sam's not gonna pretend Bucky isn't attractive - but the hobo beard is still a little much. ]
Yeah, I bet it did. [ He hums thoughtfully, mind shifting almost hesitantly. ] I got a razor, you know, how else do you think I manage to keep all this looking that good? [ He makes a vague gesture that includes his face in general, giving Bucky a little smirk before he sobers. ]
You want me to give you a better shave, make sure it stops bugging you under all those layers, I can do that.
[Sam doesn't need to say it, as the sentiment brightens the broodlink. Bucky looks away, as if turning from the sunlight, but the mention of a razor brings him back to Sam. He frowns, brows knitting as he tries to think of what Sam means by razor. First, of course, he thinks of a razor blade, then a barber's straight razor.
He carefully slides the blade up his face, already dressed in a black suit for the funeral, hair slicked back. He'll grab Steve on the way. Silhouettes blur around a grave, at first up close, on a grey afternoon. Then, farther away, three figures gathered under a tree, but none wearing black.
Blinking, Bucky comes out of the set of memories, unsure of if any of them are real. He sees Sam smirking at him and attempts to do the same, if just to return to the conversation.]
[ There's a quiet hum of acknowledgement - not apology, Sam is never gonna apologize for thinking Bucky is amazing - and then he lets the feeling go, dimming it a little so it's not coming off as strong. He knows he's gotta ease Bucky into this.
His mind slips out of focus a little when Bucky's memory surfaces, but Sam steadies himself and stays out of it, skirting the edges and letting Bucky make whatever he's gonna make of it. Real or not, it's Bucky's, and if he wants to return to the conversation Sam won't do anything more than leave an impression of acknowledgement there, too.
It helps that Bucky's actually attempting to smirk back at him, and lord knows Sam's a sucker for that. ]
Razors are a lot fancier nowadays, man. Here - [ He moves to dig around in his bag, coming up with his shaving kit. It's not an electric razor, but it's still good quality. ] You can look through it, see what's coming. We can start slow.
[Going slow seems to always be necessary when dealing with him, Bucky silently considers. Of course, Sam has the patience to deal with Bucky's issues. At the mention of going through the kit, Bucky carefully seizes the bag and searches its contents for needles, knives, guns, the like. When none are found, he nods and sets the case back on the ground. Everything contained seems benign at first glance and he trusts Sam at his core to not injure him.
So, he sits back and digs back into the memory, hoping the distraction will keep him from reacting to anything Sam does--- an old coping mechanism from HYDRA when being injected and sliced up.
Three figures stand under a tree at a distance in a graveyard. He recognizes one as the man on the bridge, the second was the one wearing wings in the fight on the helicarrier's runway, and the third he doesn't remember but her bright red hair remained etched in his memory now. He can't hear their conversation and his head hurts and he doesn't know who he is. From the edge of the trees, he watches as the redhead hands over a file and a chill runs down his spine. Run. Run now. Run until he can't run anymore.]
[ Going slow is good for them both, honestly. Sam's patient mostly because he's been there, and because it's not like he's in a hurry for anything here. When Bucky's done looking through the kit, Sam picks it back up - and then hesitates at another memory.
This time he recognizes it, watching the scene where Sam put himself on a path that flipped his whole life around from someone else's eyes, and there's a small tug of a smile. Except he sees what Bucky's doing, and he knows the feel of taking yourself out of your surroundings to try to cope with them.
Dissociation. Nah, Sam's not gonna go with that - this is a joint activity here, and they can walk Bucky through enjoying something instead of having it done to him together. ]
Should've known you were there watching, you lurker. [ He's teasing, and his mind tugs playfully at Bucky's as he reaches out to lace their fingers together for a moment. ] Stay with me, Buck. We're gonna keep you here.
[Dissociating was really all Bucky could do in the face of daily life with HYDRA, stepping away into his head while pain devours more and more of his body. A handful of times, he would be brought back- forced back- with a slap, or a firm hold of his jaw, or a pain too great to stave off with distance. One particular scar along the bend of his elbow is a reminder of the third.
Sam speaks and there's a gentle tug on his mind to guide him back to the present, but Bucky's initial response is a bone-deep fear, that sense that he's been brought back from his escape to face pain. It takes a moment to process the fingers laced in his.
This is Sam. He trusts Sam. Sam won't hurt him. There's no weapons in the kit.
But still, he can't combat the fear tugging his senses taut. He doesn't want to be here and aware and present.]
[ It was a good coping skill - at the time. Sam sure as hell isn't gonna fault him for it, back then or now. They've never done any more contact than hold hands unless one or both of them is coming down from something and too wiped out to do more than curl up together - honestly, Sam wouldn't expect Bucky to react any different.
Whether or not Bucky trusts him - the coping skills that you learn in the middle of a trauma, they burn deep.
Of course, they also tend to be really shitty coping mechanisms out of that trauma, but that's not something that's all that easy to learn alone. Sam's not going anywhere, and he lets his breathing go slow and even in the face of all that fear.
He doesn't try to jolt Bucky back, just lets his mind wrap around Bucky's, the same curl of wings he always has. I'm here, you're not alone.
And he squeezes Bucky's hand, stroking his thumb over the back of his knuckles. ]
[At Sam's question, Bucky looks down and away, though he's not entirely sure why. Eye contact, as always, is a bit like wearing a pair of boots two sizes too small, but this time, the uncomfortable nature of holding Sam's gaze doesn't cause him to look away. A mix of shame and fear and guilt tangle in his guts as he slowly shakes his head.
He's afraid and ashamed and guilty that he's afraid. After all, what right does he have to be afraid of a shave when a monster like him has extinguished terrified cries.
At his core, Bucky knows that he trusts Sam, but the fear has been ingrained in him, more instinct and primal than rational. Right now, he's afraid of Sam.
But they've worked through the impossible before, so Bucky tries.]
[ There's a steady hum of acceptance when Bucky looks away, the impression of understanding of the fear. He's not gonna say it's okay, because it's obviously not to Bucky, but he's not gonna say it isn't, either. No judgments either way, not right now.
Except when Bucky thinks of himself as a monster. Then Sam opens their connection wider, focusing hard on their brood bond. You are not a monster. He doesn't expect Bucky to believe it - but Sam does, with everything he's got in him, and he doesn't hold that back. He's never gonna stop saying it, never gonna stop feeling it, and maybe one day Bucky'll start to internalize it.
It makes something twist a little in his chest that Bucky's afraid of him, tight and aching, but Sam breathes through that, too. He's not even gonna bother hoping Bucky didn't feel it - but at the very least it means that Bucky can feel that Sam's got his own shit, can see an example of what it feels like to let it go. Working through the impossible is what they do; Sam believes in them, too.
Their connection is open enough that he doesn't even have to try to get what he's thinking across, though he pauses for a moment knows what's coming. A move he's done hundreds of times before, and he reaches out with his other hand to tug gently on the ends of Bucky's braids, to follow it up and tangle his fingers in Bucky's hair. ]
[While Bucky should've expected the response of considering himself a monster, Sam's reaction doesn't sway him. Not right now, not while his nerves sing under his skin. The gut-wrenching twist that follows pours more guilt into the toxic cocktail brewing in Bucky's chest. In the light snow currently hugging the borders of his mind, acid has once again begun to bubble up from under the ice.
Sam signals his movements the whole way through and Bucky still jerks. The comfort that follows nearly melts Bucky on his cot. Between the brood bond and their otherwise intimate relationship, he misses contact like this. With the disguises, physical contact has become more and more rare and private time as rationed as food and water.]
[ Bucky's got a habit of doing that, Sam knows - sliding over anything to do with him being a person and internalizing every not so great reaction Sam might have. And Sam gets that, too, isn't gonna blame him there, either - but he's not gonna try to curtail his own reactions because of it.
He's never tiptoed around Bucky, and he probably never will, but it's more than that. It's - it's Bucky, and their broodbond, and he's one of the few people that seems to see all of Sam. Good and bad. He's not willing to lose that; they can work through whatever comes from it. ]
Damn right I am.
[ He scratches along Bucky's scalp, not all that worried about messing up the braids - he can always redo them after they're done. Hell, maybe he will anyway, with how grounding they both find it. Bucky's not the only one missing their physical contact. ]
(You and me, man, I'm gonna set something up for us to get away from all of this for a bit.) [ He means it, for all that it's kind of absent, and he files away half formed plans for later. For now, his hand comes to rest closer to the side of Bucky's head, thumb just behind his ear. He remembers their conversation at the bar - I can't sleep without someone I trust nearby and you don't like your face being touched without asking - so he asks. ]
I wanna slide my hand down on your jaw - that okay? You don't gotta say no if it's not, I can probably feel it.
[Oh man does Bucky appreciate those skritches to his scalp. He leans into the touch, closes his eyes, and hums a quiet acknowledgment to half-formed plans. Getting away from everyone- from the noise, from the pressure- would be fantastic; he would love the opportunity to do so sooner rather than later.
Sam's question opens Bucky's eyes again- bundles up his nerves again-, but Bucky nods. He wants to try. If he never tried, he would have died in Germany decades ago. Moreover, he wants to try while Sam still has patience for him.]
[ Sam lights up a little at the way Bucky leans into the touch, and he radiates a soft, pleased warmth through the mental link. Sooner rather than later, Sam can do that. Lord knows he could use a break from all of this, too, and he knows it's gotta be worse for Bucky.
It'd be easy to say that Sam'll always have patience for him - when it counts, anyway - but that's beside the point. The point is Bucky wanting to try, and this time Sam mostly successfully manages to keep his respect for Bucky down to a faint, dim hum.
He shifts his hand down, thumb running through Bucky's beard to trace along his jawline, until he's got the side of Bucky's jaw cupped in his hand. His fingers curl in a little, scratching through Bucky's beard, before he flattens them back out. ]
[As Sam shifts his hand, Bucky's discomfort skyrockets. A hundred different fragments of memories of someone standing over him, wrenching him by his jaw or holding him by it to keep him in the present while pain sears him from another source. At first, he can't look past those bursts of images, faces, or the fear that slices through logic.
But then Sam scratches at his chin and Bucky blinks. Something about the sensation brings him to the present, draws him away from the thoughts of it's happening again, I can't go back, I won't go back. Like on the Waypoint, when Sam has introduced contact associated with bad memories, he has brought a new element to it. Just one small thing seems to change Bucky's view on the hold, allows him to look into all the differences between then and now.
Sam isn't standing above him. Sam isn't forcing him to be present for pain.
Then Sam says his name and Bucky can't help but smile a little despite the bundle of nerves dancing in his chest. This is different. Sam uses his name, doesn't call him Soldier or Weapon or see him as anything less. Sam loves him.
This isn't HYDRA. This is Sam and Bucky, trying something new, and the radical shift in thinking partially blows Bucky's mind. Goddamn he loves Sam Wilson.]
[ Despite that Sam picks up those fragments of memory and feeling, he's more grateful than ever for the symbiote link. Because it means he can feel what Bucky can, and he can know exactly when he might be pushing a little too much -
And he can feel the moment that something clicks over. The moment that it stops being just something that pulls up memories of the past and starts being a new experience, the moment that it becomes something different.
Something that might be good.
Sam's felt moments like this a hundred times over, coming back from his own shit, and damn but he's so grateful to get to feel one of Bucky's. To get to be the reason for one of Bucky's, to get to be the one sitting next to him and giving him something good.
Bucky smiles at him and Sam can't help but smile back, scratching through his beard again until his thumb just barely grazes Bucky's lower lip. Bucky doesn't have to say that he loves him for Sam to be able to feel it, and Sam echoes it back - love you too, Bucky. ]
You good just to sit like this for a bit, before we try anything else? Cause your eyes are unfairly blue, sunshine, I think I need a minute.
[ He's teasing, just a little - flirting, maybe - because he can't resist, but he's still going slow here. It's more to give them both a moment to adjust, to give Bucky some time to get used to it, before he starts bringing out the shaving cream. ]
[Between them, the feedback of love and affection is almost too much for Bucky, too bright for continued exposure, but he's reeling from a high of having what feels like a massive breakthrough. His mental landscape bursts with flowers, trees, vines, life emerging from the dead tundra. It's all likely temporary, but he can't help enjoying it and he wants to offer Sam something in gratitude.
Most of Sam's response, including the flirting, is lost to the noise. He knows Sam likes when Bucky initiates physical contact and that Sam seems to enjoy kissing people. The thumb at his lip gives Bucky even more direction and he closes the space between them.
His lips press against Sam's, sloppy, stiff, and very much evidence that Bucky has been out of the world for decades.]
[ Temporary or not, it's something, and Sam's gonna enjoy it, too. It's a good feeling, watching the way Bucky's mental landscape comes to life, and it makes him want to do whatever he can to keep it that way.
Even if he's gonna have to comment on Bucky's eyes some time later, seeing as the jerk ain't even listening to him.
There's a flare of surprise when Bucky kisses him, but it's brief. Honestly, it kind of feels like they've been circling around to this for who knows how long, and he should have expected it - he's just not sure he'd really thought of it as something that Bucky'd want to to.
But he can ask Bucky about it later - right now, he's focused on kissing him back. He slides his hand back up into Bucky's hair, fingers scratching again to see if he can't get Bucky to relax a little. And then he shifts, tilting his head just a bit to change the angle of the kiss - not quite guiding, just giving Bucky something to respond to, if he wants.
He just needs a little practice, is all. Probably. ]
[<,small>Bucky is so damn rusty at this; he can't even remember the last time he kissed anyone. The hand on his jaw and lip slides to the back of his head and scratches. Oh that feels amazing and he mirrors Sam's actions, curling his fingers along the back of Sam's head near the base of his neck. He relaxes into the touch and as Sam tilts one way, Bucky tries to follow him, only leading their noses to bump. Oh maybe he's supposed to go the other way. He tilts and their lips slot together like a lock and a key.
In the back of his head, the broodlink is humming as his mind bursts with more flowers. The snow melts away and birds dnce along the limbs of the trees.]
[ Sam doesn't really care about rusty, honestly. The fact that it's Bucky means a hell of a lot more to him than all the kissing skills in the world, and the way he can tell how much Bucky likes the way that feels - that's worth more than anything. Sam's always been into being able to figure out what his partner likes, always enjoyed being the one to make them feel good, but the feedback from the broodbond is-
It's a thing. It's a rush, and Sam leans into Bucky's touch on his neck, too, encouraging.
There's a trickle of amused affection when Bucky's nose bumps against his, and Sam briefly bumps his nose back, playful, before Bucky tilts his head and they slot completely together. Sunlight sparks in his mind, the clouds that usually obscure it dissipating, and he makes a small, contented noise in the back of his throat. ]
[Along with the rustiness comes a lack of knowledge regarding timing and technique. He slowly pulls his mouth back, but keeps his hand curled at the nape of Sam's neck, unsure of what to do. Sam seems to enjoy kissing him and physical affection, in general, seems to please Sam. A silent question of what do I do now brushes about the borders of the link, even as he clings tight to the taste of Sam's sunshine and the sound of the birds' carols.
Above all the uncertainty, though, Bucky loves the gratitude and sense of joy rolling thrpugh him in waves. awhat started as yet another panic attack changed over in a heartbeat into something new and good.]
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sizeofyourbaggage) wrote2016-05-22 03:26 pm
day 017
He retires to his tent, giving Sam a quiet blip of his location, and pulls his knife from his bag. Off goes the disguise, along with a handful of hairs. Time to get down to business. He lays out one of the inner layers of the disguise across his knees before turning the sharpest edge of the blade to his face.]
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Bucky might not have meant it as an invitation to come join him, but Sam needs a break from being out in the other envoys, anyway, so he heads back to their tent. He starts stripping off the disguise as soon as he's deep enough inside, and then stops about halfway through as he spots his broodmate sitting there holding a big old knife to his face. ]
...I got a lot of questions right now, Bucky.
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Shaving. [He replies quickly, lowering the knife to his knee.]
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Still, it's reassuring to hear. Sam doesn't comment on what it might have been - it isn't, and he doesn't want to go down dark paths or treat Bucky like he's fragile when that's the exact opposite of how Sam sees him - and he huffs out a soft laugh, raising an eyebrow. ]
All right, I got a few less questions. [ He sets aside the layers of his disguise, moving over into Bucky's space. ] That's gonna give you a shitty ass shave, sunshine, you always use a knife for that?
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He doesn't mind Sam moving into his space, but turns the blade away from Sam where it sits on his knee.]
Done it since I got out. [Because when someone's head is scrambled and in pieces, he goes with what he knows. Hell, he's cut his own hair with the knife. In uneven layers, sure, but he's not entering any beautiy paegants anytime soon.]
Kept getting caught in all that. [He gestures with his head toward the pile of fabric that is his disguise. The beard is much longer than usual, a full hobo beard instead of the eternal scruff he's able to shave.]
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It's one of those times that he notices how amazing Bucky is, but he doesn't comment on it. Or that Bucky's been using a knife for years, apparently - no wonder he's been rocking the hobo chic look.
Granted, if anyone could pull it off, it's Bucky - and all right, all right, he has pulled it off, it's not like Sam's not gonna pretend Bucky isn't attractive - but the hobo beard is still a little much. ]
Yeah, I bet it did. [ He hums thoughtfully, mind shifting almost hesitantly. ] I got a razor, you know, how else do you think I manage to keep all this looking that good? [ He makes a vague gesture that includes his face in general, giving Bucky a little smirk before he sobers. ]
You want me to give you a better shave, make sure it stops bugging you under all those layers, I can do that.
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He carefully slides the blade up his face, already dressed in a black suit for the funeral, hair slicked back. He'll grab Steve on the way. Silhouettes blur around a grave, at first up close, on a grey afternoon. Then, farther away, three figures gathered under a tree, but none wearing black.
Blinking, Bucky comes out of the set of memories, unsure of if any of them are real. He sees Sam smirking at him and attempts to do the same, if just to return to the conversation.]
Yeah.
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His mind slips out of focus a little when Bucky's memory surfaces, but Sam steadies himself and stays out of it, skirting the edges and letting Bucky make whatever he's gonna make of it. Real or not, it's Bucky's, and if he wants to return to the conversation Sam won't do anything more than leave an impression of acknowledgement there, too.
It helps that Bucky's actually attempting to smirk back at him, and lord knows Sam's a sucker for that. ]
Razors are a lot fancier nowadays, man. Here - [ He moves to dig around in his bag, coming up with his shaving kit. It's not an electric razor, but it's still good quality. ] You can look through it, see what's coming. We can start slow.
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So, he sits back and digs back into the memory, hoping the distraction will keep him from reacting to anything Sam does--- an old coping mechanism from HYDRA when being injected and sliced up.
Three figures stand under a tree at a distance in a graveyard. He recognizes one as the man on the bridge, the second was the one wearing wings in the fight on the helicarrier's runway, and the third he doesn't remember but her bright red hair remained etched in his memory now. He can't hear their conversation and his head hurts and he doesn't know who he is. From the edge of the trees, he watches as the redhead hands over a file and a chill runs down his spine. Run. Run now. Run until he can't run anymore.]
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This time he recognizes it, watching the scene where Sam put himself on a path that flipped his whole life around from someone else's eyes, and there's a small tug of a smile. Except he sees what Bucky's doing, and he knows the feel of taking yourself out of your surroundings to try to cope with them.
Dissociation. Nah, Sam's not gonna go with that - this is a joint activity here, and they can walk Bucky through enjoying something instead of having it done to him together. ]
Should've known you were there watching, you lurker. [ He's teasing, and his mind tugs playfully at Bucky's as he reaches out to lace their fingers together for a moment. ] Stay with me, Buck. We're gonna keep you here.
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Sam speaks and there's a gentle tug on his mind to guide him back to the present, but Bucky's initial response is a bone-deep fear, that sense that he's been brought back from his escape to face pain. It takes a moment to process the fingers laced in his.
This is Sam. He trusts Sam. Sam won't hurt him. There's no weapons in the kit.
But still, he can't combat the fear tugging his senses taut. He doesn't want to be here and aware and present.]
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Whether or not Bucky trusts him - the coping skills that you learn in the middle of a trauma, they burn deep.
Of course, they also tend to be really shitty coping mechanisms out of that trauma, but that's not something that's all that easy to learn alone. Sam's not going anywhere, and he lets his breathing go slow and even in the face of all that fear.
He doesn't try to jolt Bucky back, just lets his mind wrap around Bucky's, the same curl of wings he always has. I'm here, you're not alone.
And he squeezes Bucky's hand, stroking his thumb over the back of his knuckles. ]
What do you feel?
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He's afraid and ashamed and guilty that he's afraid. After all, what right does he have to be afraid of a shave when a monster like him has extinguished terrified cries.
At his core, Bucky knows that he trusts Sam, but the fear has been ingrained in him, more instinct and primal than rational. Right now, he's afraid of Sam.
But they've worked through the impossible before, so Bucky tries.]
Your hand: calluses, warm, moving.
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Except when Bucky thinks of himself as a monster. Then Sam opens their connection wider, focusing hard on their brood bond. You are not a monster. He doesn't expect Bucky to believe it - but Sam does, with everything he's got in him, and he doesn't hold that back. He's never gonna stop saying it, never gonna stop feeling it, and maybe one day Bucky'll start to internalize it.
It makes something twist a little in his chest that Bucky's afraid of him, tight and aching, but Sam breathes through that, too. He's not even gonna bother hoping Bucky didn't feel it - but at the very least it means that Bucky can feel that Sam's got his own shit, can see an example of what it feels like to let it go. Working through the impossible is what they do; Sam believes in them, too.
Their connection is open enough that he doesn't even have to try to get what he's thinking across, though he pauses for a moment knows what's coming. A move he's done hundreds of times before, and he reaches out with his other hand to tug gently on the ends of Bucky's braids, to follow it up and tangle his fingers in Bucky's hair. ]
How about now?
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Sam signals his movements the whole way through and Bucky still jerks. The comfort that follows nearly melts Bucky on his cot. Between the brood bond and their otherwise intimate relationship, he misses contact like this. With the disguises, physical contact has become more and more rare and private time as rationed as food and water.]
You're pullin' on my hair.
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He's never tiptoed around Bucky, and he probably never will, but it's more than that. It's - it's Bucky, and their broodbond, and he's one of the few people that seems to see all of Sam. Good and bad. He's not willing to lose that; they can work through whatever comes from it. ]
Damn right I am.
[ He scratches along Bucky's scalp, not all that worried about messing up the braids - he can always redo them after they're done. Hell, maybe he will anyway, with how grounding they both find it. Bucky's not the only one missing their physical contact. ]
( You and me, man, I'm gonna set something up for us to get away from all of this for a bit. ) [ He means it, for all that it's kind of absent, and he files away half formed plans for later. For now, his hand comes to rest closer to the side of Bucky's head, thumb just behind his ear. He remembers their conversation at the bar - I can't sleep without someone I trust nearby and you don't like your face being touched without asking - so he asks. ]
I wanna slide my hand down on your jaw - that okay? You don't gotta say no if it's not, I can probably feel it.
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Sam's question opens Bucky's eyes again- bundles up his nerves again-, but Bucky nods. He wants to try. If he never tried, he would have died in Germany decades ago. Moreover, he wants to try while Sam still has patience for him.]
Sure.
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It'd be easy to say that Sam'll always have patience for him - when it counts, anyway - but that's beside the point. The point is Bucky wanting to try, and this time Sam mostly successfully manages to keep his respect for Bucky down to a faint, dim hum.
He shifts his hand down, thumb running through Bucky's beard to trace along his jawline, until he's got the side of Bucky's jaw cupped in his hand. His fingers curl in a little, scratching through Bucky's beard, before he flattens them back out. ]
Still with me, Buck?
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But then Sam scratches at his chin and Bucky blinks. Something about the sensation brings him to the present, draws him away from the thoughts of it's happening again, I can't go back, I won't go back. Like on the Waypoint, when Sam has introduced contact associated with bad memories, he has brought a new element to it. Just one small thing seems to change Bucky's view on the hold, allows him to look into all the differences between then and now.
Sam isn't standing above him. Sam isn't forcing him to be present for pain.
Then Sam says his name and Bucky can't help but smile a little despite the bundle of nerves dancing in his chest. This is different. Sam uses his name, doesn't call him Soldier or Weapon or see him as anything less. Sam loves him.
This isn't HYDRA. This is Sam and Bucky, trying something new, and the radical shift in thinking partially blows Bucky's mind. Goddamn he loves Sam Wilson.]
Yeah.
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And he can feel the moment that something clicks over. The moment that it stops being just something that pulls up memories of the past and starts being a new experience, the moment that it becomes something different.
Something that might be good.
Sam's felt moments like this a hundred times over, coming back from his own shit, and damn but he's so grateful to get to feel one of Bucky's. To get to be the reason for one of Bucky's, to get to be the one sitting next to him and giving him something good.
Bucky smiles at him and Sam can't help but smile back, scratching through his beard again until his thumb just barely grazes Bucky's lower lip. Bucky doesn't have to say that he loves him for Sam to be able to feel it, and Sam echoes it back - love you too, Bucky. ]
You good just to sit like this for a bit, before we try anything else? Cause your eyes are unfairly blue, sunshine, I think I need a minute.
[ He's teasing, just a little - flirting, maybe - because he can't resist, but he's still going slow here. It's more to give them both a moment to adjust, to give Bucky some time to get used to it, before he starts bringing out the shaving cream. ]
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Most of Sam's response, including the flirting, is lost to the noise. He knows Sam likes when Bucky initiates physical contact and that Sam seems to enjoy kissing people. The thumb at his lip gives Bucky even more direction and he closes the space between them.
His lips press against Sam's, sloppy, stiff, and very much evidence that Bucky has been out of the world for decades.]
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Even if he's gonna have to comment on Bucky's eyes some time later, seeing as the jerk ain't even listening to him.
There's a flare of surprise when Bucky kisses him, but it's brief. Honestly, it kind of feels like they've been circling around to this for who knows how long, and he should have expected it - he's just not sure he'd really thought of it as something that Bucky'd want to to.
But he can ask Bucky about it later - right now, he's focused on kissing him back. He slides his hand back up into Bucky's hair, fingers scratching again to see if he can't get Bucky to relax a little. And then he shifts, tilting his head just a bit to change the angle of the kiss - not quite guiding, just giving Bucky something to respond to, if he wants.
He just needs a little practice, is all. Probably. ]
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In the back of his head, the broodlink is humming as his mind bursts with more flowers. The snow melts away and birds dnce along the limbs of the trees.]
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It's a thing. It's a rush, and Sam leans into Bucky's touch on his neck, too, encouraging.
There's a trickle of amused affection when Bucky's nose bumps against his, and Sam briefly bumps his nose back, playful, before Bucky tilts his head and they slot completely together. Sunlight sparks in his mind, the clouds that usually obscure it dissipating, and he makes a small, contented noise in the back of his throat. ]
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Above all the uncertainty, though, Bucky loves the gratitude and sense of joy rolling thrpugh him in waves. awhat started as yet another panic attack changed over in a heartbeat into something new and good.]
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